


The Calling Card

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Encasement, Attempted suffocation, Dean Winchester to the Rescue, Gen, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Kidnapped Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Winchesters, Sam Winchester to the Rescue, Tied-Up Castiel (Supernatural), Wing torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 14:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18166118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: All Cas knows is that the person who took him wants revenge on the Winchesters.And they’re going to use him to get it.





	The Calling Card

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings in end notes.

“There’s no point in you struggling,” the man said.

Cas stopped, but not because the stranger said so. Not even because, so far, the chains holding his arms taut above his head had failed to give even an inch (not surprising since they burned with magic), and that the ground beneath his bare feet felt like broken glass thanks to the sigils scratched into it.

He stopped because this might be his chance to find out who this man was, why he had been taken, and what the man wanted.

“Clever little angel,” the stranger went on. “I want to say sorry to you, first of all. Because everything I’m about to do to you, you don’t deserve. But two people who care about you, they deserve it. They deserve to suffer like I did, so they’re going to.

“And then I want to tell you there’s no point in begging because this is going to happen, and it’ll be quicker and over faster if you don’t keep fighting.”

Two men came in then, each heaving a large metal bucket, and struggling with them. They kept just out of Cas’s range, as if still wary of their bound captive (they should be; Cas kept careful watch on all of them, sure at some point one would slip up and leave him an opening to exploit), which meant he couldn’t see what the buckets contained, and set their burdens down behind him.

Then they retreated to the door, and stood sentry, occasionally glancing back at him and his captor.

“Do you mean the Winchesters?” The answer seemed obvious, but he wanted more information than the man had so far provided, and if he kept him talking it might delay whatever the man planned to do.

The brothers would be looking for him, Cas knew, and he could tell they were not far from the diner where the angel had been snatched. Help was probably not very far away, if he could hold out.

The man pulled on a thick set of rubber gloves, and said nothing as he moved to stand behind the angel.

“Vokspariem,” he muttered, and a terrible wrenching pain had Cas contorting as best his body could given how he restrained.

He hung there, panting, as his wings were pulled through from the ether; they drooped at his sides, too atrophied from the lack of use to hold their normal position.

The man drew in a sharp breath and, more gently than Cas had expected, stroked a hand down one of the wings.

It twitched, and Cas grit his teeth.

“I didn’t know,” the man said. Cas twisted his head around enough to see he genuinely looked dismayed, but there was a hard resolve there as well.

He’d chosen his course of action, and an angel’s already broken wings weren’t going to turn him from it.

He reached up, and turned Cas’s face away again. “You probably don’t want to watch. Trust me, it’ll just make this harder.”

Before Cas could respond, he heard a horrid _gloopy_ noise, and then something cold and heavy was pressed into his left wing.

“What….”. He tried to tug his wing away, but it was too weak to do more than flutter lamely, and the weight of the substance dragged it down painfully. “What are you doing?”

He yelped, in pain and in response to the cold sensation as more of the stuff was deposited on his feathers, worked in, and his wing hung even lower than before.

“Please,” he panted. His wing felt heavy, the tips now bent against the sigiled floor, doubling his pain. “Please, please stop it. I don’t know what you want!”

The man shushed him, not unkindly, but he kept going. “I told you what I want. You’re just the way to get it. This isn’t your fault. It isn’t my fault. You want to know who to blame, they’re the guys you live with in that bunker. Those Winchesters. And when they find you here, we both know they will, they’re going to know what it feels like to know someone you love suffered horribly, alone and in pain, scared, and they can’t do a thing about it.”

The pain jumped in sharp increments, moving from the wing itself to Cas’s back and shoulders; it felt like the wing was slowly being ripped free as it hung heavier and heavier against him.

If that happened…. Surviving with ragged, broken wings was one thing; surviving them being torn off him was another.

“If they’re torn free,” he said, forcing out the words, “I’ll die.”

The man hummed as he worked, as if trying to comfort either the captive angel or himself. “I know. I don’t want that. I want you alive, so they find you suffering, so you can tell them it was me.”

“I don’t…. I don’t know who you are.”

“I’ll tell you,” the man said. “All in good time, though, Castiel. Because there’s still a lot of work to do here.”

++

It seemed to take hours. By the time he was done, Cas’s wings were a sodden, sludge covered mess, and there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t hurt.

His strength was completely sapped, so that even when they undid the chains holding him and lowered him carefully to the floor, he couldn’t take the chance to push them away and run.

Even if he could have got up, wings buried beneath the material he’d come to realise was cement, he wouldn’t have been able to escape. He could barely move; walking never mind running was completely beyond him.

His only hope now was that the brothers would find him quickly.

The two men brought another bucket over, and Cas eyed it, sick and wary, wondering what more they had planned for him.

“If you do this, you’ll kill him,” one of them said, nervously.

Victor Phillips (he’d made Cas repeat his name, and his story, again, and again, so Cas was sure that the human intended for him to survive this) shook his head.

“I told you. He’s an angel. This won’t kill him. It’ll hurt, though. It’ll hurt and he’ll be terrified, and that will make it worse for them. Get back to the door, because we probably don’t have too long.”

Then he looked down at Castiel, and again he seemed stricken at what he was about to do.

But Cas had seen he would go through with it anyway.

He picked up a handful of the wet cement, and held it over Cas’s face.

Cas drew in a sharp breath as he realised Victor’s intent. To fully contain him, leave him encased in the wet cement, for the Winchesters to find.

No, he wouldn’t die, but the horror of it drove him to try once more to find some compassion in the man holding him.

“Please. Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, Castiel,” Victor said, and Castiel knew he meant it.

Even so, his hand came lower, ready to deposit the sludge over his face.

But then they both heard it, the deep throaty rumble of a powerful engine, and the other two men came running in.

“Dammit, they’re here. You’ve done enough, just leave him!”

Victor shook his head and tipped his hand.

It hurt, and Cas didn’t know where he found the strength, but he jerked his head aside, and lashed out with his still bound hands.

Victor was toppled over and the wet cement splattered next to Cas instead of on him.

Victor cursed at him, but then the other two men were dragging him to his feet, and towards the door, and then they were gone.

Cas lay there, shaking, needing to breathe even when he knew it wasn’t a necessity, but feeling like the whole room was slowing shrinking in around him, to bury him like Victor had wanted to do.

And then he heard them yelling his name.

He wanted to answer, but something was wrong with him. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move.

But he didn’t have to. Dean and Sam dropped to their knees at his sides, taking in with their eyes what had happened.

Cas saw from the horror on their faces just how bad things were, and reached up with his bound hands.

Dean caught hold of them, squeezed his fingers between the angel’s.

“You’ll be okay, Cas. We’ll get this shit off you, and Cas…. Cas!”

++

He woke up to the sound of hushed voices, and the dull ache of his Grace sluggishly healing his body.

Cas didn’t move, not at first. He knew he was in a bed, knew it was _his bed_ and that, though sore, he was warm and as comfortable as the brothers could have made him.

Some blankets were tucked in around him, and Cas could feel his wings were no longer in the human realm.

He winced as the memory of the Winchesters cleaning him off came back to him.

Sam had found a hose and spigot in that old abandoned garage, and the shock of cold water on his wings had brought him hastily around.

Dean’s hands were already covered in the cement where he’d been digging clumps of it away, but the water did the job more efficiently, even though it hurt.

They’d taken turns holding him down so his wings could be thoroughly cleaned, only realising the sigils on the ground (obscured by the mess Victor had made during his torture of the angel, but still effective) were further weakening him.

Once they’d moved him away, he felt a little better, but what he’d been through had wrecked him to where he needed all the help he could get.

And that help, his family, was still here. He could sense them by the bed, keeping their voices low as they spoke, thinking him still asleep.

“They weren’t going to stop,” Dean said. “You saw that, right? They were going to cover him in that shit.”

“I know,” Sam said. “But they didn’t. We got there in time.”

“In time.” Dean huffed. “When I find out who did that…”

“When we find out,” Sam corrected. “And we will, Dean, but right now we need to look after him first.”

There was a strained silence, and he heard a rustle of clothing as someone moved. “Yeah, okay. But that fucker is never getting near him again, Sam, no matter who he is. ‘Cause for this? I'll kill him.”

Cas let himself slip slowly back to sleep, to let his Grace operate more efficiently at healing his body and his wings, secure in the knowledge that now he was back with his family, they would keep him safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be safe, the intended threat of full body encasement is implied here, and suffocation (an unpleasant experience even for an angel who doesn’t really need air) but rescue arrives in time to prevent it.


End file.
